


A Perfect Commotion of Silk and Linen

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Animal Transformation, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal and Peter had been circling each other for years. One day, Neal slipped the anklet and flew away, and the whole situation became a lot more literal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Commotion of Silk and Linen

**Author's Note:**

> Some months ago, I put out a request for White Collar prompts to fit some of my bingo squares and both [](http://saphirablue.livejournal.com/profile)[**saphirablue**](http://saphirablue.livejournal.com/) and [](http://twinchaosblade.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**twinchaosblade**](http://twinchaosblade.dreamwidth.org/) separately suggested something to do with a swan bonding with Neal or Peter, and as I thought about the idea it morphed into the swan _being_ Neal. So this happened--it's for the "accidental mating for life" square on my [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/)**hc_bingo** card. The title is from Mary Oliver's poem, "The Swan."

Sunday mornings were always Peter's favorite, and he had his routine set. He'd try to be flexible; more often than not flexibility isn't optional when El and Neal team up to make his life less predictable and infinitely more interesting--both in bed and out of it. Still, Peter knew he was a creature of habit. Sunday morning was all about a huge mug of coffee, a box of cinnamon buns and the newspaper in bed. Sunday was the day Peter liked to stay in his pajamas until noon, but sometimes it just wasn't meant to be.

That morning, as Peter opened the front door in bare feet, wearing plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt that was getting ready to fall apart, the very last thing he expected to see was a swan. At first glance, he thought it was a statue, a decoration that belonged in the back yard rather than on the front stoop where it was sure to end up smashed on the sidewalk sooner than later. Then it stood, opened its beak to trumpet in Peter's face, and walked past him into the house, neatly disrupting Peter's cherished Sunday morning routine.

Peter froze for a moment, still bent over in the act of picking up the newspaper, struck by the disorienting sensation of seeing something that _shouldn't be real_ , then he shook himself and snatched up the newspaper before storming back into the house. "Hey! Get out!" The swan stood in the middle of the living room with its head cocked to the side like it was listening to Peter. "Shoo! Get out!"

"Hon? What's going on?" El called from upstairs.

"Just a bird in the house." Peter looked at the swan, and it looked back. "I've got it! Keep Satchmo up there, will you?"

Wielding the newspaper as a weapon, Peter closed in on the swan but it hopped neatly away, always just out of Peter's reach. He tried to shepherd it toward the still-open door, but the swan wouldn't move in that direction no matter what Peter did. It hopped up on the back of the armchair and bobbed its head up and down. The swan was beautiful and strange, and it absolutely didn't belong in Peter's house.

"Hon?" Peter looked up to see El coming down the stairs, tying her satiny robe closed over her nightgown. "Did you get--oh my god!"

The swan jumped down from its chair-top perch and ran toward the base of the stairs, white wings spread incredibly wide. It trumpeted angrily at El and rushed at her until she retreated halfway up the stairs.

"Hey!" Peter tried to swat at the bird with his newspaper, but it hopped away, wings once again close to its body. "I can't get the damn thing out the front door, but maybe it'll go out the back. Just stay up there until I get rid of it."

"My hero, the swan hunter. I can't wait to tell Neal about this." El laughed.

"Let me just try to get this thing out of here so it's not still inside when Neal gets here for lunch." Peter circled around the swan and closed the front door. This time, as Peter moved forward toward the kitchen and the back door, the swan hopped ahead. Peter pulled open the door then moved behind the island and the bird went right out the door. Peter closed the door and leaned against it for a moment before calling up the stairs. "It's gone!"

El padded back down the stairs and into the kitchen. "It didn't make a mess did it?"

Peter cringed at the thought of El's reaction to swan poop on her floors, but as he looked around nothing was disturbed. Only a few shed feathers were left as evidence of their visitor. "I think we're good." He poured himself a big mug of coffee and headed upstairs with his newspaper, ready to slide back into his Sunday routine now that the interruption had been ejected.

Fifteen minutes later, Peter was comfortably stretched out in bed with El next to him, the pillows just right behind his back, and the Travel section folded up in his hands when a commotion started up outside. It sounded like some middle school band kid tuning up his bugle, and Peter ignored it for a while until El climbed off the bed and went to look out the back window.

"Hon, it's that swan. It's in the back yard flapping its wings around, and it's weird. I feel like it's looking up at us."

"Great. The neighbors are going to love that." Peter groaned and got out of bed. He put on his slippers again and walked back down the stairs. As soon as he opened the back door, prepared to shout loudly enough to drown out the swan, the swan quieted down. It folded its wings up and walked toward Peter, making soft tooting sounds, and it looked like it was aiming for the kitchen so Peter closed the door behind himself.

"Come on, obviously your wings work, so why don't you just fly away. There's nothing interesting here." Peter felt like an idiot talking to a bird, but what else was he going to do? He walked out into the yard, and the swan waddled alongside him, like a dog perfectly trained to walk to heel. "Okay, I give up, just...keep the volume down." He shook his head, at himself as much as the swan, and opened the door just enough to slip inside.

El was in the kitchen, looking out the window. "No luck?"

"Nope."

"Let me try. Maybe it'll fly away since it doesn't like me." She winked and opened the door to step outside. Immediately, the swan spread its wings and came running toward her, trumpeting wildly, and El shrieked and jumped back, slamming the door in front of her. "Oh my god!" She smoothed down her robe and sighed. "I wish Neal were here so I could see if it just hates me."

"He'd get a kick out of this anyway. Let's call him, see if he can come over earlier."

"Good plan."

Peter got Neal's voicemail, so he left a message then went ahead and got dressed since his lazy morning was pretty well over. By the time he had his sneakers on, the swan was raising a fuss again, so he took his newspaper and coffee outside, and again the swan quieted down. It settled onto the porch next to Peter, and when El cautiously stepped outside with her own coffee and the Book Review section it kept a beady eye on her but stayed quiet and still, other than one loud trumpet when Peter leaned across the table to kiss her.

The morning passed, and El went inside to start putting things together for brunch but Peter hadn't heard back from Neal, even though Neal usually would've showed up at the house by late morning. He called and got the voicemail again, then gave in and went inside to check the tracking data. It showed that Neal was at home, that he hadn't moved for several hours, and it just didn't feel right to Peter. He gave in to his worry and called June, who promised to go check on Neal.

When June called back several minutes later, she sounded out of sorts, but not upset. "Goodness," she said, "this is certainly going to be very difficult to explain."

"Please tell me that Neal hasn't done something to slip the anklet again. Please, June."

"Well, in a manner of speaking, but it wasn't his fault." She cleared her throat. "You see, my dear Byron had a habit of collecting unusual objects."

"Unusual...objects?" Peter didn't understand why June was talking about Byron when Peter was going to have to spend his Sunday afternoon tracking down Neal before the Marshals figured out what was going on.

"Objects with unusual properties. One particular object got him in enough trouble that I begged him to get rid of it, but considering that it's sitting on the table on my terrace he must have simply hidden it somewhere deep in his closet."

"June, I'm sorry, I don't understand what this has to do with--"

"It's a swan, Peter, a carving of a swan that can transform those who touch it into swans as well."

"Uh-huh, right." Peter walked over to the back door and looked at the swan still sitting outside. It had to be a strange coincidence that June was weaving this fairytale for Peter on the same day that a swan was occupying Peter's yard. "Where is he?"

"What I'm telling you is that he could be anywhere. His clothes are here on the terrace, disheveled on the floor with his tracker propped on his shoe, and the insides of his clothes are covered in small white feathers."

"Right. Do you have any idea where he's going, or did he just hare off again?"

"I'm being quite honest. Tell me, have you by chance seen a swan today?"

"This is an extremely elaborate joke." Peter shook his head.

"When my Byron had his run-in with that carving, he spent God only knows how many hours flying around, but then he came home to me, and he wouldn't leave me alone. It's their mating dance, did you know?"

Peter's heart pounded in his chest and the room tilted and spun a little; the whole situation made no sense. "Um, I'm going to hang up."

"Okay, dear. I'm going to send Mozzie over to help, but you take care of that swan in the meanwhile."

Peter hung up and stood staring out at the bird walking around his yard with a funny little strut that almost made him think of--no.

"Hon, what did June say?"

"She said that Neal touched some old carving and got turned into a swan, and now he's here."

El blinked then laughed. "Well, that does make sense, kind of."

"I don't really see how." But that was almost a lie because something in Peter's gut told him that it was true.

"I heard about something like this once before. It was Egyptian, I think, kept behind glass in a museum so that nobody else would turn into a cat."

"Right. This is a seriously strange way to spend a Sunday." The swan was starting to trumpet again, so Peter took his laptop outside and started to research. Googling swans led Peter to a YouTube video of swans performing a mating dance, swimming alongside each other, and when the swans on the screen trumpeted, the swan perched on the chair Elizabeth usually sat in trumpeted right back.

After a while, it hopped down and nosed around the potted plants like it was trying to find something to eat, so Peter looked up the normal diet for swans. Ten minutes later El was laughing as he dug in the hall closet for the inflatable pool they'd bought one hot summer. At the sound of the air compressor, the swan flew to the far corner of the yard, but he came back when Peter started filling up the pool with the garden hose and hopped in as soon as the water was deep enough. El came out with a bowl of baby spinach and when she sprinkled the leaves out onto the water, the swan ducked his head and started to eat them.

"I guess he likes me now that I'm feeding him."

Peter sighed. "I'm having a serious amount of trouble with the idea that this is supposed to be Neal. And if it is, wouldn't he be trying his mating dance on you? Or on both of us?"

El patted Peter's arm and leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment. "Hon, I know Neal loves us both, but you have to know he's more attached to you. And I don't think swans are known for threesomes."

"I really didn't know anything about swans until twenty minutes ago. I'm pretty much thinking that in a little while I'll wake up and go downstairs to get my Sunday paper."

"No such luck." El stretched up to kiss Peter, and the swan practically levitated out of the pool so she went back inside.

Peter needed to do something so he paced. He walked around the pool in circles, and the swan swam along beside him, making its tranquil way around and around and around. The swan was beautiful, really, with perfectly white feathers that looked almost iridescent when the sun hit the droplet of water that clung to them. The swan's beak and feet were soot black, and the sinuous curve of the neck led down into a muscular body. Peter sat and watched him until he felt hypnotized by the smooth, silent circles the swan made in the water.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Mozzie arrived, and Peter thought that either it took June a while to track him down or Mozzie took his sweet time making his way to Brooklyn, but he didn't want to argue with the one person who might know how to get Neal back to normal. Peter realized that he'd been sucked into assuming the swan really was Neal, and shook himself/

"Suit," Mozzie greeted as he walked out the back door into the yard. "Neal didn't tell me that his relationship with you had reached this level."

"Uh, well." Peter had no idea what to say.

"He probably thought you wouldn't want me to know." Mozzie crossed his arms over his chest, an overstuffed bag hanging from his shoulder.

It was true that Peter didn't love the idea of Mozzie knowing anything about his sex life, but at the same time he didn't want Neal to feel like he had to keep their relationship from his best friend. "I'm fine with it, but I'm not fine with the idea that Neal is now a bird living in a baby pool. If that's actually what's going on here."

"Naturally." Mozzie walked over to the pool, and the swan greeted him with a quiet toot before dipping down to find some of the corn El had added to the water. "Bring me a bath towel and a robe, please."

"If you need a ritual robe, Moz, you should've brought one."

Mozzie shook his head and gestured to the pool. "Does it look like he'll be wearing any clothes when he resumes his human shape?"

Peter had to admit that Mozzie had a point, so he brought out one of their biggest bath towels and his terry cloth robe.

"Now go back inside and wait with Mrs. Suit."

Peter shrugged and went back inside the kitchen to lean against the island next to El. "If this is all some elaborate magic trick to let Neal run around outside his radius, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Hon, you know it's not. You and Neal, you were circling around each other long before we all got together. Certainly long before he became a swan."

"But we're not circling anymore."

El reached up and patted the side of Peter's face. "Right."

They both jumped at a flash of light from the backyard, and Peter yanked open the door and hurried out with El right behind him. They found Neal sprawled in the inflatable pool with a towel flung haphazardly over the middle part of his body and a look on his face that belonged on somebody who'd just woken up from being very, very drunk.

"Um," he said, looking around at the three of them, "whatever it is, I don't remember doing it."

El shooed away Peter and Mozzie and got Neal wrapped up in the robe. He looked dazed and a little out of synch with the world, so Peter hung back and let El chivvy him upstairs. He'd left some clothes in the guest room closet, and by the time they came downstairs Neal was dry and dressed and looked more abashed than confused.

"Is she really telling me the truth?" Neal looked back and forth between Peter and Mozzie.

"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, but yes." Peter tried not to be insulted as Neal looked back at Mozzie again.

"You think I would collude against you with the Suit?"

Neal looked trapped. "No, of course not. I'm sorry, I just--"

"It's okay." Peter walked over and pulled Neal into a hug and Neal leaned into it, his exhaustion palpable. Peter pulled back but kept his hands on Neal. "Look, I have to get you back to June's and back in the anklet. June's been carrying it around the house with her so that it doesn't look like you've been in exactly the same spot for the last fourteen hours or so."

"Fourteen _hours_?" Neal gaped.

"That's what the data says. Apparently you had quite the night."

"Wow, okay. I'm going to need some sleep if you expect me to be useful tomorrow."

"Let's go. Mozzie, can I give you a ride somewhere?"

"Fat chance." Mozzie bowed slightly in front of El. "It's lovely to see you as always, Mrs. Suit." He walked toward the door and nodded at Neal. "I'll talk to you later."

"Thanks, Moz." Neal watched his friend go and then sighed. "I was really a swan? Like those people who stole the Egyptian cat statue?"

"Of course you would know about that." Peter shook his head hopelessly. "Okay, come on."

Peter gave El a kiss then followed Peter out the door. Late afternoon was just starting to show a hint of dusk, and as they drove across the bridge into Manhattan, Neal stopped participating in their meandering conversation and just stared out the window, his eyes on the sky. Peter reached across the seats and put a hand on his thigh. No more flying for Neal, at least not that day.

~~~

Monday morning, Neal went about his usual routine of getting ready for work, and he could have almost believed that the events of the previous day had been a dream. After all, Neal had seen a lot of things in his life, and a person turning into an animal was something that only happened in stories from paranoid thieves. Except that he'd seen his clothes, feathers embedded in the fabric from the inside, and his tracker sitting there unharmed and locked but not on his ankle. And though he had no clear memories of anything between sitting on the terrace examining the sculpture he'd found and waking up naked in a kiddie pool, there was something else in his head. The images and feelings were as insubstantial as watercolor, but he had a sense of the tops of buildings and the surface of water, feathers and freedom, longing and belonging.

And then there was the feeling in his stomach, which was decidedly certain and unfortunately real. It reminded him of the time in Thailand when he indulged in some of the more extreme local delicacies, so he suspected he'd eaten something while in his swan form that didn't agree with his human digestion. Just the thought of eating or drinking anything out of the Hudson or the East River or a pond in Central Park made Neal's stomach churn, but he just took a sip of the tea he was drinking in place of coffee and put it out of his mind. There was work to be done and, while Peter probably wouldn't argue if he called in sick, he didn't think he could relax at home. He felt unsettled, restless, and the only thing that made any sense was going in to the office.

When he got there, he headed straight into a meeting with Peter and the team. Peter did his best to pepper the conversation with avian references, smirking with that glint in his eye that made Neal want to shake him or kiss him silent when he talked about ruffled feathers and birds of a feather and a particular jab about the suspect swanning around New York. It was infuriating, and it was terribly comforting because if Peter was comfortable enough to make Neal's transformation into a private joke then he wasn't going to quietly freak out and distance himself. Neal didn't think he could take that. The thing he had with Peter and Elizabeth was casual, but Neal needed it. He needed it more than he'd ever realized before.

After the meeting, Neal walked down to the lobby and outside with Peter to get some decent coffee and then went back to his desk to try to get some actual work done. The coffee was a bad idea, the bitter liquid clashing with whatever tiny sea creatures were trying to colonize his gut, and he ended up on his knees in the men's room hurling until the coffee was gone and his stomach was empty and still. When he was done, Neal sat down at his desk again, but he found himself distracted, craning his neck to look up at Peter's office. Finally, he picked up the files he was working on and a bottle of water and carried them upstairs.

Peter waved him in then narrowed his eyes. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, but something smells awful down there, Jenkins' lunch maybe. Do you mind if I work up here for a while?"

"Sure." Peter shrugged and moved some files from the side of his desk closest to Neal. "Pull up a chair."

Neal went back to work, and even if his stomach was still uneasy he felt better sitting near Peter. Settled, in a way that was somehow physical and mental at the same time. After a while, he noticed that he was unconsciously mirroring Peter--turning pages when Peter did, drinking from his water when Peter took a sip of coffee, leaning forward and back to match Peter. Mirroring was a good tactic sometimes in a con, but Neal wasn't in the mood to con anybody. He tried to stop, tried to find his own rhythm of work, but his rhythm kept pulling him into synch with Peter, and after a while he stopped fighting.

When it was time for lunch, Neal walked down the stairs next to Peter and caught Diana watching them with a raised eyebrow. "What?" he asked as they passed her desk.

"You two are really joined at the hip today, that's all."

Neal didn't know what to say, and Peter kept walking so Neal hurried for a few steps to catch up with him. Lunch was soup, a great recipe he'd cooked for himself on Saturday, but Neal couldn't find it in himself to be very interested. He sat at a breakroom table across from Peter, who was thankfully eating something other than devilled ham, and took small spoonfuls of the broth but it didn't settle well and after a while he noticed Peter watching him.

"You sure you feel okay? You look kind of pale over there."

Neal put his spoon down and sat back. "You ever think about drinking out of the duck pond in Central Park?"

Peter grimaced and put his sandwich down.

"Exactly."

"Okay, I'm going to take you back to June's so you can, I don't know, drink some tea or something, and I can get some work done without thinking about avian eating habits."

Neal didn't love the idea, though he couldn't argue given that he wasn't getting anything done since he wasn't up to much more than sitting folded in half in his desk chair. Within half an hour he was walking back up the stairs to his apartment, the rooms bright, full of light and empty. He thought about finding out what June was up to or seeing if Mozzie wanted to come avail himself of the wine Neal was in no shape to drink, but as much as he was fond of them both, having company didn't sound any better than being alone.

Neal dutifully made and drank a cup of tea then stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. He slept for a while, skating just under the surface of sleep in a way that made him think of moonlight and dawn, and woke in the late afternoon feeling wretched. It wasn't so much physical, though his stomach was sore and his mouth tasted like a swan dropping cocktail, but his mind kept hopping from one thing to another. His body felt too restless to stay in bed, but he had no head for painting, no concentration for reading. Cooking was entirely unappealing, and checking in with June or Mozzie just didn't feel like something he wanted to do.

He turned on the TV, tried to lose himself in some random medical drama, but his limbs wanted to _move_ , and he found himself constantly shifting on the couch. When the show ended he realized that he had no idea what he'd been watching for the past hour. By then, the afternoon had slipped away into evening, and Neal gave up on the whole concept of resting. He hoped a walk around the neighborhood would settle his nerves, mellow out the restless need to be somewhere else that wouldn't let him relax.

He grabbed his jacket and wallet and decided that he'd walk down to the Japanese place he liked, get some miso soup and steamed rice to take home for an attempt at dinner. Outside, he looked up at his terrace and the sky above, trying to grab onto some echo of how it had felt to fly off the balustrade and out over the streets and the parks and the river, then finally into Brooklyn.

Brooklyn. He thought that Peter was probably home, inside that warm bubble of light eating dinner with Elizabeth, and the idea of being there himself made him feel more centered than he had since he got home. Neal started walking downtown, still thinking that he'd go ahead and get that soup, go back home, but after five blocks he gave in and hailed a cab. Peter would probably be less than pleased, but Neal couldn't help it; he knew he wouldn't get any rest anywhere else.

Neal walked up the stairs to the Burkes' front door and rang the doorbell, and when Peter opened the door he stood there looking nonplussed for a moment before gesturing for Neal to come inside.

"You're making a habit of this," Peter said as he closed the door.

"Sorry." Neal wasn't sorry at all, but sometimes it was easier to just say it and move on.

"No, no, we're always happy to have you here." Peter wrapped his arm around Neal's shoulders, and when Neal turned in towards him, drawn like there was a magnet in his chest, Peter pulled him in for a real hug. "Hey, at least you're human this time." His breath warmed the side of Neal's face, and as he backed away he brushed a kiss across Neal's lips.

Neal looked past Peter to see the table set for dinner. "I really didn't mean to interrupt dinner. I was just--" Neal didn't know how to explain.

"Don't worry about it. Come on." Peter started walking toward the kitchen, and Neal followed in his wake.

"Neal!" El looked up from the cutting board full of vegetables she was chopping and smiled. "Peter said you went home sick?"

"I just ate something bad." Neal shrugged, trying not to think too hard about what the something might have been. "But it's going away, I think."

"Poor baby." El finished with her bell pepper and came over to give Neal a hug. Leaning into her body felt good, so good, but he was already craving Peter's touch again. He wasn't nearly sick enough to be so needy, and it was ridiculous.

They all sat down to dinner, and Neal nibbled on toast while Peter and Elizabeth ate pasta and salad. Neal and El settled in to watch TV in the living room while Peter washed the dishes, and Neal poked around on El's iPad. Ornithology had never been a particular interest of his, but he needed to know more about swans. He read the Wikipedia entry and then, with the volume on mute, watched YouTube videos. When he saw the mated swans swimming around together matching their movements to each other, he felt his stomach drop in a way that had nothing to do with dirty water.

"Oh my god," he muttered under his breath, and El hit pause on the DVR.

"You figured it out?" Her words were gentle, but that only made Neal feel worse.

"Mated for _life_? I'm so sorry, I never meant--"

"Shush." She took the iPad out of Neal's hands and put it on the end table next to her. "It's been clear for a long time that you're a part of our lives for good, and I wouldn't change that."

"Wouldn't change what?" Peter walked in with two glasses of wine and a bottle of water for Neal.

El moved her feet to give Peter room to sit down in the middle of the couch. "That Neal's a part of our family."

"Of course." Peter nodded and took a sip of his wine, then stretched out and rested his arm over Neal's shoulders. "It's not something I ever expected, but you have to know I'd never want to change it."

"Neither do I." Neal relaxed against Peter's side.

They went to bed, and Neal curled up between Peter and El. He was finally where he needed to be, and his whole body settled into sleep. When he woke in the morning, craving both breakfast and something more athletic than cuddling, Neal kept his eyes closed and held onto the memory of his dreams--flying, soaring on an endless cushion of wind and then finding his way home. Always finding his way home.


End file.
